


Taking A Break

by ribbonelle



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU obviously, Lost Light meeting the W.A.P, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was such a thing as fate, just like everything else Misfire believed in, and there was no way he was letting this chance go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking A Break

**Author's Note:**

> apologies for probably not characterizing anyone right. i reaaaally like the scavengers but i haven’t tried writing them yet so this was an opportunity. but yes, apologies still.
> 
> this was a request for tumblr user lorvikatarri, and there's some mistakes concerning ranks and what not but i've been lazy and hence, no rectification. apologies again.

It wasn’t really Crankcase’s fault. Not really.

 Alright maybe a little, since it was by his actions that the Weak Anthropic Principle’s engine bailed. He was of course the best pilot in close proximity, but getting angry at Misfire’s taunt about being a coward? Why would anyone fall for that?

Which led to him speeding up in the midst of the asteroid storm they had encountered, despite the act going against every code a pilot had. It wasn’t a surprise when the ship blared damage alarms, its HUD flashing warnings all over the place. A stray rock had zoomed right into one of the ship’s vents due to its impressive speed and mangled some internal machinery terribly.

Krok had emerged into the control room with his EM field a mixture of rage and concern. Fortunately enough for Crankcase, there was an intergalactic rest stop somewhere near, and he got off with a stern reprimand from the ship’s leader. Misfire got a smack to the back of the helm, but he had been through worse.

Thus began their unaccounted and expectedly short break on the neutral territory called Daxus, a free-for-all region whose laws were loose and consisted of mechanoids and organics alike. Cybertronians weren’t a rare sight there and there wasn’t any need for official registry so Krok was content enough to find repairs on the land.

However, it seemed that Daxus was lacking the essential parts for fixing a Cybertronian ship, especially a war model like the W.A.P. It would take the local mechanic two days to receive the newly ordered parts and a day to fully repair the ship. Misfire was smacked one more time, but Krok relented. It wasn’t like they could do anything else.

There was no way the crew were to stay put in their ship now they were on land. Daxus was a fairly social rest stop, with interesting amenities and acceptable facilities. It wasn’t too exciting, but they wouldn’t die of boredom either.

Hence the Scavengers all dispersed, seeking relaxation and maybe opportunities that arose. They weren’t above doing dirty work to earn energon, that was for sure.

It was only by chance that Misfire and Fulcrum ended up in a tavern that housed various organics and mechanoids alike, sitting around without buying a drink. They couldn’t afford that yet. The din was friendly enough, nevertheless, and Fulcrum was beginning to relax as he listened to Misfire’s rambling about one of his misadventures while gesticulating wildly. It had been a while since Fulcrum was even remotely in the company of this many sentient forms, so it was pretty great.

Till, Misfire cut himself off in the middle of a sentence, optics going wide as he stared at something way beyond Fulcrum’s right shoulder. Fulcrum was wary, at first, not sure if he wanted to turn around but then Misfire’s faceplates rearranged themselves into something Fulcrum was very familiar with. There was no mistaking that grin or the way his optics dimmed into red embers.

Misfire had found someone he wanted to frag. That prompted Fulcrum to turn around, less subtly than he would have liked.

He could swear he felt his fuel pump drop into his gestation tank.

“Primus with an energon stick, the day has come,” breathed Misfire, sounding pleased with his discovery, “I am going to frag  _that._ ”

Fulcrum whipped back around so fast his helm almost snapped off. “You’re joking, right? Do you even know who that is?”

The flier scoffed, “Of course I do! That’s Ultra Magnus. I can’t believe we’d meet him in a place like this but I am infinitely sure that I’m not dreaming, or hallucinating, because there is no one with that fine a frame if it’s not Ultra Magnus.”

Fulcrum turned around again discreetly, and sure enough, the law enforcer was still there. He was sitting at the bar with his large frame slightly hunched over, holding a drink small enough to be engulfed by his entire hand. Ultra Magnus, in the metal. Amazing.

“We should probably leave,” Fulcrum added quietly, “This is neutral territory but he must be here with the rest of his shipmates, Primus knows how many of them are here—no! Misfire!” he hissed his colleague’s name but it was too late, Misfire was already making his way towards the other Cybertronian.

The grin Misfire flashed Fulcrum was nothing but frustrating. :Don’t worry! I got this. I’m gonna try my hand at winning the big guy over because I’ll be honest, I’ve wanted to since I was protoformed. See you later, loser!”

Fulcrum could do nothing but watch as Misfire swaggered over to where Ultra Magnus was, knowing full well that he’d have to report Misfire’s arrest to Krok soon enough. He wasn’t happy about it.

//

He was on his own, this time. After the last incident concerning Swerve and the others, and the disabling of his fuel intake moderation chip, Ultra Magnus was never going anywhere near a bar with the Lost Light crew again.

But that didn’t mean he’d stop  going entirely, just without company and definitely with his F.I.M chip on at all times. He liked sampling what bars on different galaxies could offer, it was almost an indulgence but the Magnus never indulged in anything.

They had stopped at Daxus on Ratchet’s request, on the pretence of stocking up on some of his medical supplies. The reasoning seemed awfully shady to Ultra Magnus, but then again, there were quite a lot of gruesome incidents that had happened in the Lost Light, right after they took off. More than he had predicted, so it was plausible.

Nothing much had been going on aside from the integration of Tailgate into the Autobots, and rule violations from various members of the crew (including Rodimus, shamefully, Ultra Magnus truly didn’t know how to rein in their wild Prime but by Primus was he going to try).

Shaking his head a few times with a scowl that was impressive, Ultra Magnus downed his second glass of high-grade, despite it doing nothing to distract him from his problems. It was hard being Magnus. He loved it, but it definitely wasn’t easy. Everyone said that he was too uptight but how could he not be? So many regulations are being broken, so many laws disregarded.

But he couldn’t deny the fact that relaxation was needed. Not _total_ relaxation, but some degree of it, just so Ultra Magnus could keep a clear head the next time he caught someone breaking rules again. But how to relax, he didn’t know. There wasn’t a manual on letting loose given to him when he accepted the title.

He ex-vented with a light huff, displeased, and set his glass down. Almost simultaneously, something purple intruded his peripheral vision in great deliberation, and Magnus couldn’t help but glance over.

His HUD literally flooded with alerts and notifications.

 _Misfire: DECEPTICON._  The list of his wrongdoings was…terrifying. Long enough for Ultra Magnus to take about five seconds to scroll down to the very end of the list. He definitely wasn’t a mech who abided by the rules, in addition to being a Decepticon. Ultra Magnus hurriedly scanned his surroundings to find any other Cybertronians but there were none. He returned his attention back to the purple flier and his eyes narrowed.

“Hi,” said Misfire, an insufferable little smirk curving his lips, “All alone?”

“Are you? What are you doing here, Decepticon?”

“Hey, hey,” the flier put his hands up, in a gesture of surrender, “This is neutral territory, right? There’s no need to get all hostile with me, here, so chill, Ultra Magnus. I’m just a mech coming to say hello. We stopped by for some repairs, that’s all. You gonna tell me why you’re here?”

Ultra Magnus watched him carefully for any sign of dishonesty, but found none. Either Misfire was also a really good liar, or he was being telling the truth. Magnus was inclined to believe the first assumption, “None of your business. So there are more Decepticons in the area?”

Misfire made a face, but Ultra Magnus got the feeling that it was for show more than anything else, “Primus! Will you please not interrogate me when all I’ve done is just say hi? There’s a few others, but they won’t be doing anything funny, I  _assure_ you. Do you even know my designation?”

“Misfire, correct? I’m Ultra Magnus, of course I have records on you. They’re not so clean.”

“If  you read about that little incident in Kaon then really, I can explain, it was mostly an accident!”

“There are 49 different allegations made about you, I’m sure Kaon should be the least of your worries.”

Misfire actually chuckled nervously at that, but he hiked himself up on the seat next to the Magnus, legs crossing almost demurely as he leaned forward in interest, “Yes, maybe, but you’re not going to arrest me, are you? None of those allegations were confirmed. Plus, we’re in neutral territory and the war’s over, or so I think.  _And_ it’ll be a killjoy. Please don’t arrest me?”

There was something off with his request, Magnus noted, especially the way his tone went low and his mouth curved into an imploring pout. Misfire was known for his bad aim and his mischievousness nevertheless, so it was probably standard procedure for the jet.

Ultra Magnus weighed the pros and cons. On one hand, he could arrest Misfire and take him aboard on the Lost Light, which would lead to more prisoners of law violation and a name crossed out of his records. On the other, it could backfire and even more mishaps would happen on the ship. And Misfire’s Decepticon colleagues might also come for him, and more confrontation during their journey would be most unwelcome.

Ultra Magnus usually never compromised, but they were in neutral territory and he just really wanted another drink. “Fine,” he said finally, “You aren’t under arrest. But if I hear any commotion occurring in this place, I’m coming straight for you. Understood?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Misfire almost purred, and that made Ultra Magnus reset his optics a few times. Was he…? No, couldn’t be.

The law enforcer fully expected Misfire to leave afterwards, but he was proven wrong when Misfire shifted on his stool, uncrossed and recrossed his legs. He had an arm on the bar and was watching Magnus with a sultry smile on his face, helm in hand. How peculiar.

“Are you waiting for an acquaintance?”

Misfire shook his head lightly, “Nope. They’re all doing their own thing. Just hanging around here, and then I saw you. Felt like I had to say hello.” Ultra Magnus noticed the way Misfire’s wings lifted up and down, in an almost enticing display. His free hand was absently tracing circles over one of his knees. Interesting.

“You greeted me, I suppose. You’re not drinking anything, though. So why are you here?”

Misfire smirked and laughed a little, one optic blinking in a wink, “Why, you offering to buy me one? I’m just hanging around, Magnus, it’s just nice to see a fellow mech here in the middle of nowhere. Bonus points that it’s you.”

There was no mistaking the flaring of Misfire’s field against his, a teasing bump of EM waves. For what obscure reason, Ultra Magnus did not know, nor did he wish to find out. “Right. This will be my last drink, however. Then I will take my leave.”

“Aw, what? Really? Why not stay for a bit, you and me could get to know each other better.”

Ultra Magnus wanted to outright refuse, but his processor pinged with an error. He frowned, “You and I.”

“Hm?”

“It’s ‘ you and I’, not ‘you and me’.”

There had to be something illegal about the way Misfire smiled afterwards, “Really? Truth be told, I couldn’t give less of a damn about grammar. It’s dull.”

Ultra Magnus’ faceplates twitched almost imperceptibly, “What? But grammar is what keeps our language in order, which directly leads to flawless deciphering of statements made. Especially in regulations.”

Misfire leaned back, casually checking his fingertips over, “Well, it disinterests me. I never had the chance to learn it proper, y’know? So I don’t care much.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, “Would you want a lesson.”

“Pardon? Did you just offer me a lesson in grammar?”

“I…No. Yes,” Ultra Magnus cursed his programming, cursed the feeling of responsibility in educating mechs about the importance of good syntax.

Said mech’s wings twitched up and down in his excitement, “Well, I’ll say! A lesson from Ultra Magnus himself! Talk about the experience of a lifetime. So…the lesson brings out here?”

Ultra Magnus frowned even deeper. Was that deliberate? “It’s ‘will be brought out’. But no, I believe this isn’t a conducive setting. Maybe we could return to the Lost Light—“

“Whoa, no. I appreciate the offer, Mags, but I’m not going anywhere near your ship. I don’t think you’d want to be near mine, too. Maybe we could go to the room I rented for the night? Promise it’s just me there, no one else. We bunk up separately.”

The law enforcer took a moment to think things over once again, and decided it couldn’t hurt. He could easily overpower Misfire if anything were to go awry, and he sent Rodimus a comm. message alerting the Prime about his whereabouts. He didn’t mention who with, though, as he had deemed it unnecessary to create a commotion. They probably won’t run into this particular Decepticon ever again, anyway.

“Alright. Lead the way. And my name is Ultra  _Magnus_.”

//

Misfire can’t believe his  _luck._

He didn’t even have a room but for the sake of getting laid, he shelled out what few credits he had for a decent enough room just as they entered the building. If Ultra Magnus noticed that he didn’t have a room from the very start, he didn’t say anything.

Things could turn horribly wrong, but Misfire was never one to overthink things too much. This was Ultra Magnus, drool-worthy appointed enforcer of the Tyrest Accord. He was the mech everyone wanted to be sentenced by. Misfire could remember relieving charge on his lonesome to thoughts of the Magnus, dreaming up scenarios where he was caught and the enforcer would ‘punish’ him. Just recalling said memories was heating him up, making him shiver.

The moment he saw the opening for them to be alone, he took it.  Who cares if Ultra Magnus thought him as a dumb jet who didn’t speak perfect language, he’d be scrap metal if it meant getting to do this.

This, meaning being in a room with the Magnus. Just the two of them. Sweet.

It was a typical room with only one bed, and Misfire parked his aft right on the berth after the door closed behind Magnus, playing the part of an excited student eagerly. There was a chair that was probably small enough for Magnus, but the mech managed, to Misfire’s disappointment. It would have been way easier if Ultra Magnus just sat on the berth, too.

But this was more fun, in a way.

“So. I would like you to tell me the extent of your knowledge on the simple things; verbs and adverbs, the like. Also, punctuation. We mustn’t forget punctuation.”

“I agree. Can’t forget punctuation,” Misfire nodded, still seemingly keen for their lesson. He managed to ramble about proper syntax for a bit, as Ultra Magnus listened attentively and nodded his approval at times. He purposely messed up an example for a noun, nevertheless, and a large blue hand raised like the limb of Primus himself.

“Wrong. The correct way to use that would be in—“ and cue a famous Ultra Magnus elaboration, complete with subsections and bullet points. Misfire was entranced. He wasn’t so much listening to the mech rather than staring at how his lipplates moved, optics roving over the large, appealing frame. It took him about three minutes of mindless staring before he decided that he was going to touch.

“Therefore, in conjunction to that particular…What are you doing?” Ultra Magnus huffed in displeasure at having his explanation cut off, frowning at Misfire’s hands resting on his thighs. The annoyed expression quickly turned into confusion and slight alarm when the flier pulled himself up into Ultra Magnus’ lap, a leg on each of Magnus’ side, a suspicious smirk on his faceplates.

Their pelvic arrays were less than inches apart and Ultra Magnus had to reach out to prevent collision, hands stopping Misfire by the waist. “What are you  _doing_?”

Purple wings hiked up in obvious interest, and Misfire reached to absently draw glyphs on Ultra Magnus’ chest plating, “Trying to be at the best vantage point to listen to your explanation. It’s much more comfortable this way.”

“But this isn’t appropriate at all, get off of—“

“But Magnus,” Misfire piped up, “This really is the best position to absorb all of that information you’re conveying to me. Isn’t pronunciation very important? Like this, I can see every little movement you make.” The jet revved his engine once, very deliberately, and leaned forward till there was only a breath between their faces. “Don’t you agree?”

Ultra Magnus stared down at the mech in his lap with obvious disbelief. He had earlier considered the possibility of Misfire flirting with him, but being this brash? That must took some ball bearings. The Magnus leaned away slightly nevertheless, curious. If the need arose, he’d just toss Misfire out the window.

“What could you possibly hope to gain from this?”

“An overload,” replied Misfire easily, “Or maybe several, if you’re up to it. The opportunity of taking the famous Ultra Magnus to berth. The war’s over, I’m very attracted to you, and I think you could indulge yourself at times. Ultra Magnus really is above all of us normal mechs, but hey. Interfacing is a pretty sublime experience, you know.”

It took a while, of staring into the red optics of the eager Decepticon. Ultra Magnus tried to gauge Misfire’s true motive, his true intention but it seemed like there was nothing but honesty in the mech’s eyes. Misfire wasn’t so notorious about his ingenuity in bluffing, either.

His servos were still resting on Misfire’s hips, too large fingers practically engulfing the purple metal. He glanced down, curling said fingers, testing. Misfire preened in satisfaction, making a show of arching back a little and dragging his own fingers over Ultra Magnus’ chest plating, his optics flashing with appreciation.

Ultra Magnus watched the little thing in his lap. He scrolled down a few legal programmes over on his HUD, and of course, there was nothing against associating with a mechanoid who wasn’t technically enemy now, since the war was over. Maybe this could contribute as a method of relaxation; one he’s been looking for. Plus. He was on vacation.

Misfire was picked up like he weighed nothing, and the jet froze for a moment, all alerts going up. Unceremoniously, he was dropped onto the berth. He scrambled up to rest on his elbows, just in time to see the Magnus clamber up on the berth as well, big, gorgeous,  _powerful_ frame moving to loom over his smaller one.

There was no mistaking the absolutely ecstatic noise Misfire made in approval.

//

The guests in Room 302 were being terribly loud, but it wasn’t like the hotel maid could do anything about it. She merely shook her head, six arms moving to push the cleaning cart away from the corridor, from the sounds of clanging and moaning.

“Tsk,” she rasped, “Cybertronians.”


End file.
